Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1887-04-20

She has placed her hand appealingly
upon his. With sudden cry, wild as
though coming from beast hurt unto
death, he seizes her, and flinging her far
from him, sends her with crash against
the furthest wall.
She drops like stone to the ground
Duran, holding her to his heart, looks
round. Boyle is no longer to be seen.
Without waiting to learn the consequences
of his fury, he had rushed from the room.
"Wen, at last my duty is at an erd;
my final guest has departed. Gun now
rest my weary limbs" says Miss Grey
some hours later, sinking into a chair as
she speaks.
"You look awful1y done" returns Mas
sareene with deep solicitudc.
"Iam tired. Iconfess it. With all this
anxiety upon my mind, to be obliged to
90 about among the guests and apologize
to them for poor Lady Valworth' absence,
was more trying than knew. Auntie
was of no help at all. She was thorough
ly upset herself, and for tho first hour un
presentable. Then she rallied little,
but to hardly any purpose. Oh, Gerald!
what 8 terrible evening this has been!'
'sIt has had its good side, however.
You are free. ..I....,,,s,.Gs s;.s.<..,,ss-
"Free-yes.
"To let me love you"
"I have had no time to think of that"
She regards him earnestly for moment.
"You will compel me to believe you sell
fish," she says slowly.
els it selfish to consider above every
III fha 1fcr ~ ho ha1nuQ1Y
If so, plead guilty. I tell you have
thought of nothing since-since Boyle's
expose-but the fact that you have been
delivered out of the hands of such man."
zone must think of Nadine.'.
"How is she now?" "Well, but still
terrified. His violence did her no bodily
harm, but she is oppressed by nervous
horror, and will not consent to remain
alone for even moment.
She is now in the morning room with
Mr.. Duran and auntie."
''You were surprised about Duran?"
Weren't you? When she called out to
him that time, and when he caught her
in his arms, could hardly believe my
senses Well, it is good exchange for
her. Maurice Duran is handsome, and
rich, and her hearts chosen. She is
Lucky girln'
care you unlucky?" He asks the ques-
ton wistfully, looking down at her with
his plain, kindly face rather disturbed.
II am ugly andpoor, and not altogether
sure that am the chosen Of her who Is
all the world to me-"
"Oh you are you?" returns she senten-
tiously. "And as for Maurice Duran,
would not marry him, even If he had the
grace to ask me-"
"And you will marry me:' eagerly.
''Time will prove that" ...
She laughs at him a little saucily from
under her long lashes, and holds out to
him hand with such dainty sweetness as
brings him to her feet at once.
"My darling girl''
ga darling girl, no doubt; but not
yours yet, however.
"And why not, since you are free?"
~ was quite free all along, it seems?'
exclaims she with a quick flash OF
wounded pride that brings the hot blood
to her cheeks. She springs from her seat
and PAGES rapidly up and down the room.
Presently she stops short before him, and
lifts her dark, angry eyes to his. 81
wonder you have not too much pride to
care for the woman who was despised by
that thief" she says, with angry excite
ment.
II care for Millicent Grey. tits absurd
to dwell upon such thing" returns he
strongly.
'Shall ever forget it, wonder-to be
rejected by such as him! To learn from
his own lips that was merely used as
blind; that, while paying attention to me
his whole heart and soul was devoted to
another!''
"Butwhat soul and heart! you should
consider that"
"The meaner they are, the more re-
sent his conduct. And to say it before
them all!-my aunt Lady Valworth, Sir
Thomas, you! When he thus scorned me
publicly, with that evil smile upon his
lips, had only one wish left"
"And that?"
''That 1 were man, to thrust the words
back in his throat and kill him.
"And yet you held me from him at the
moment. He is still in the house, how
ever. I will compel him to apologize
to''- begins the hot Irishman, making
for the door.
s'No, it would be useless" interposes
she, quickly "It is done it cannot be
undone, ,and surely his mother has suffered
enough. There must be no further dis
turbance."
II can follow him, however"
II tell you, you could never undo what
is done. Let him 60; he is not worth
notice. / should be ashamed to confess
that his sting hurt me. And we are
bound to remember his MOTHER
@iAh! poor Lady Valworthl She indeed
is tho one to be pitied."
$50 you would say, could you see her
now"
"Where Is she?'
'In her own room. Sir Thomas was
with her. His grief for her was very
touching, but she seemed, I thought, i'm
patient underit. She looked old, crushed,
brokenW
Millicent turns aside, but not before he
down her cheeks
"Poor woman!" says he softly. And
then: "My darling, you are worn out.
You have been thinking for every one.
Let me now think for you. You want
rest. Let me persuade you to lie down
for little while"
lit would be useless. could not sleep.
The very air is heavy with trouble. AS
long us that man remains in the house I
hardly know how any of US can breathe.
"That difficulty will be conquered in a
few hours. He will leave, of course, by
the early train.
81 suppose so. His poor mother!'
"Millicent! Try to forget it all for
awhile at least. Think of something
else'- he pauses and looks at her en-
treatingly. "Could you not think of
me.'
''If hadn't you to think of I should go
mad," returns she, with sudden soft yehe-
mence. She holds out her hands to him.
"You are my one comfort" she whispers
brokenly.
They do not hear the door open, and in.
deed she is still in his arms when Mrs.
Brands voice falls on their ears.
''Is this what you call taking little
rest'?" she asks, with deep reproach.
There is, however, no anger in her tones
he looks too sad, too depres 'ed for any
open demonstrations of annoyance.
"Mrs. Brand" says Massareene, ad-
vancing eagerly toward her, "you know
how it is with me and Milliccnt. You